


to pull you back into my arms

by thesetemplebones



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comfort/Angst, M/M, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 14:20:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3572813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesetemplebones/pseuds/thesetemplebones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Punch me,' Aramis begged, tears in his eyes as he stared at him, 'beat me with your hands, as long as I feel your touch again.'<br/>D'artagnan desperately clung to the wooden table behind him, words caught in his throat. Where was Constance?<br/>'Please, d'artagnan. I beseech you.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	to pull you back into my arms

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly think d'artagnan is shippable with any one of them. I've always loved the idea of him being in a relationship with the other three. So, here's my first story for that ship type thing...
> 
> I hope you like it! (:

**S** leep had alluded him last night as it had since the day they found out the truth. If wasn't for Captain Treville and the others, D'artagnan would have been lost totally; it was only because of them that he knew what day it was.

It was early Wednesday morning.

Unable to lay on his back any longer, d'artagnan rose from the bed, being careful not to disturb Athos; who slept beside him, on his stomach with his face buried in his pillow and his right arm stretched out, reaching for him without actually touching him. It spoke volumes of the distance that had formed between all of them, not just d'artagnan and Athos.

D'artagnan sat on the edge of the bed, his hands laying flat against the sheet, his body hunched over from the weariness that was weighing him down. He closed his eyes, just taking in the stillness of the morning.

“d'artagnan?”

“Go back to sleep,” d'artagnan hands clenched the sheet, not turning to face the older man.

“Come back to bed,” Athos said, reaching out his arm further so that his hand stroked d'artagnan's back, soothing away some of the tension that settled along his spine.

“I can't sleep,” d'artagnan said, “I didn't want to wake you with my tossing and turning.” He turned his head to glance back at the other man, Athos stared at him with his cool eyes sitting up now in bed, “I'm going to go for a walk.” He hated seeing _that_ look on Athos' face, he had seen that look upon his face for the past month now. He leaned backwards and brushed his lips against Athos' in a quick but tender kiss.

“You are angry with me,” Athos stated.

“No,” d'artagnan shook his head.

“Look me in the eye and say that to me,” Athos said.

D'artagnan's body tensed again as he let out a defeated sigh. He didn't want to have this argument again, not first thing in the morning. He wasn't angry with Athos because he had kept Aramis' secret, he understood why he had done it. It's not as though Athos was the one who slept with the Queen, but he _was_ angry with Aramis and that caused tension throughout their relationship.

“Athos,” d'artagnan looked at him, “I am not angry with you.”

“And Aramis?” Athos raised a brow.

D'artagnan frowned and looked away, “I am not talking about him this early in the morning.”

“d'artagnan-”

“No, Athos,” d'artagnan's voice sharp, “I'm not talking about _him_.”

Athos sighed but said no more about it. D'artagnan dressed silently aware that Athos was watching him the entire time. Not wanting the man to think he was upset with him and because he needed the touch, d'artagnan walked over to his side of the bed and leaned down, pressing his forehead against his. Athos released a content sigh.

“I'm not angry with you,” d'artagnan whispered and pressed a kiss to his temple before rising and walking toward his door.

“He misses you,” Athos said.

D'artagnan paused, his hand on the doorknob but didn't turn around to look at him. A minute passed before he walked out the door, saying nothing.

* * *

 

As d'artagnan walked down the steps, he wasn't surprised to find Porthos sitting at their usual table, waiting for him. He was surprised to see the man by himself, without Aramis hovering nearby. Porthos having heard him, looked over at him, a gentle smile gracing his lips, “morning, pup.”

“Morning,” d'artagnan returned the smile and walked over to the man, “what are you doing up this early?”

“What are _you_ doing up,” Porthos asked.

“Couldn't sleep,” d'artagnan answered, “didn't want to wake Athos.”

Porthos hummed, use to hearing d'artagnan's answer of getting no sleep. When it was Porthos sleeping with d'artagnan, he stopped the young man leaving the bed by wrapping his arms around him.

“Figured,” Porthos pushed a bowl over to d'artagnan who had sat across from him, “eat before you go out.”

d'artagnan didn't argue, though he didn't feel hungry, and began to eat slowly. Silence fell upon them but it wasn't thick nor was it easy. Porthos wasn't happy when he learned the truth either and had nearly throttled Aramis but he quickly forgave him. He wasn't happy with him, not by a long run, but he didn't push him away completely like d'artagnan had. Porthos, more so than Athos, acted as a buffer between Aramis and d'artagnan.

“Where is he?” d'artagnan asked.

“I sent him to bed,” Porthos replied, “he wanted to be here for when you showed up, like every other morning but I made him go.”

d'artagnan nodded, pushing around the porridge in his bowl. He didn't look up, “Athos says he misses me.”

“Desperately,” Porthos said, “but you already knew that.”

D'artagnan looked up, “I do. I see how wrecked he is, I'm not blind.” He looked back down at his bowl, sighing, he wasn't going to be finishing eating.

“… and he sees how wrecked you are,” Porthos sighed, leaning forward in his seat, “You are both sufferin' and he feels guilty that he is the 'cause of it.”

“Does he not think I care about him at all?” d'artagnan slammed his bowl down on the table, “my heart isn't cold… it's _broken_!”

“Alright,” Porthos reached across the table and pulled d'artagnan's hand into his own, “calm down.”

D'artagnan let out a frustrated huff, shaking his head at it all, “he is the one who hurt me and broke my heart and yet, I am the guilty one.”

“No one is sayin' that,” Porthos shook his head.

D'artagnan pulled his hand away, not before Porthos pressed a harsh kiss to his palm, before he stood and walked away needing to get away from the garrison, from Paris.

* * *

 

D'artagnan found release, no matter how temporary it was, in his rides in the countryside; just outside of Paris in case someone needed him, never straying too far. It was the only place where he didn't feel as though he was being suffocated.

A month had passed since Aramis and Athos revealed that Aramis had slept with Queen Anne and that the Dauphin was in fact his son, not the King's. D'artagnan was in shock to say the least and didn't have time to process the information before they worked to save not only the Queen's life but Aramis' and Constance's.

It didn't matter to D'artagnan that Aramis had slept with her before they were together, that was the least of the problem but it still hurt d'artagnan. After everything was said and done, d'artagnan was able to take the time to process everything and he was hurt in a way that resembled the night his father was killed. The pain only worsened when Constance shared with him that she had caught Aramis and the Queen sharing a kiss. He had gotten sick in fact, and Constance had rubbed his back the entire time; d'artagnan's heart broke because he knew that Aramishad love for Queen Anne.

Of course his being upset with Aramis had disrupted his relationship with Athos and Porthos. They had done nothing to wrong d'artagnan and yet he didn't feel comfortable in either of their arms when he once was as comfortable as could be. He flinched at the brush of Porthos' touch and tensed at the press of Athos' lips. It didn't help that he hadn't _touched_ Aramis in a month and had to deal with being around him constantly nor did he really speak to him.

D'artagnan knew that being in a relationship with the three of them was going to be difficult but he never imagined this. He knew that Porthos and Aramis had sometimes slept with women, just because they had to keep up pretenses and they knew that it hurt d'artagnan but Aramis sleeping with the Queen was different.

It was the difference that shattered d'artagnan's heart.

D'artagnan slid off his horse and walked a few steps before he emptied his stomach. He knew that Aramis was suffering and that made him hurt even more because although he had broken his heart, he was still in love with the man.

_Damn him._

“So, you'll be living permanently in the palace then?” D'artagnan asked as he helped Constance pack up some of her belongings from the house.

Constance nodded, “yes. Unless I marry again, of course.”

“Of course,” he laughed and shook his head as he collected some of the few books that she cherished and placed them on the table, looking through them.

“You'll have to visit me,” Constance said.

“You know I will,” D'artagnan smiled.

“D'artagnan...”

He looked over to the red haired woman and saw her looking at him with concern, a frown on her face and her eyes soft.

“I will come visit you in the palace, Constance,” d'artagnan stated, “you are my best friend, after all.”

Constance smiled brightly as she walked over to him and dropped a kiss to his cheek, wrapping an arm around his chest as she stood behind him. D'artagnan leaned back in his chair and into her embrace, placing his hands upon her arm, giving her forearm and firm kiss.

When she pulled away, she stood beside him and d'artagnan looked up at her. He saw that she was biting her lip and her brow was furrowed.

“What?”

“Aramis gave me a letter to give to you,” Constance said, “he knew that you were helping me gather my things today.”

D'artagnan sighed. _Of course he did._ He looked down at the table, his finger tapping against the cover of a book.

“Won't you forgive him?” Constance asked.

“I forgave him the minute that everyone was safe,” D'artagnan said and looked up at her, “the very second that you were released I forgave him. The minute that he and Athos were not hanged, he was forgiven.”

“Then-”

“He broke my heart, Constance,” D'artagnan cut her off, “he ruined my heart and I am still in love with him.” He shook his head, running a frustrated hand through his hair, looking up at her with a sad smile, “I love him.”

Constance wrapped both of her arms around him as he leaned into her, crying into the crook of her elbow as she held onto him tighter.

* * *

 

D'artagnan had collected all the books that Constance had wanted and placed them neatly on the kitchen table while she had headed out to the palace to deliver one of her trunks before they moved the rest. He was just finishing the last book pile up when he heard the door open, banging slightly against the wall.

“That was fast,” d'artagnan said without turning around. “I think I have all of your favorite books- I didn't know you had all these, where..” d'artagnan turned around and lost his breath. Aramis stood in the archway of the kitchen; his hair was messy as if he was constantly running his fingers through it and he was absent his hat, which he held onto tightly in his left hand.

“Kick me,” Aramis said.

“W-what?” d'artagnan looked at him, focusing on trying to breathe and not collapse right there on the spot.

“Punch me,” Aramis begged, tears in his eyes as he stared at him, “beat me with your hands, as long as I feel your touch again.”

D'artagnan desperately clung to the wooden table behind him, words caught in his throat. _Where was Constance?_

“Please, d'artagnan, I beseech you.”

D'artagnan just stared at the man unable to form any words. _Was this happening? Was he really here._

“You… you need to leave,” d'artagnan's voice shook, “now.”

“No,” Aramis shook his head, “I won't.”

“Why are you here?”

“To speak to you,” Aramis stepped forward, “we can't keep doing this, d'artagnan.”

“ _We_ can't?” d'artagnan asked.

Aramis looked at him.

“Do you not understand how painful it is for me to be around you?” d'artagnan asked. “You broke my heart, Aramis! You didn't just hurt me!” Tears rolled down his cheeks, “ _you broke my heart_.”

“I am sorry, d'artagnan,” Aramis said, “you will never know how much.”

“Constance could have been killed!” d'artagnan yelled, making Aramis flinch. “Athos could have been killed! Did you not think of that? _You_ could have been killed!” d'artagnan's body shook as he clenched his fists at his side. “I could have lost three people that I love!”

“D'artagnan, please,” Aramis moved forward, reaching his arm out before he remembered and let it dropped back down to his side.

D'artagnan turned away from him, taking calm breaths, digging his fingers into the kitchen table, “you love her.”

“d'artagnan...” Aramis sounded broken.

“You will always love her, she is the mother of your child,” d'artagnan said, still turned away, “after all.”

He knew that it was a low blow but at the moment, d'artagnan didn't care. He wanted Aramis to feel at least an ounce of the pain that he was feeling.

“If you want my forgiveness, you already have it,” d'artagnan murmured.

“I want _you_!”

d'artagnan turned back around to look at the other man. They stared at each other for a few minutes before Constance called from outside, her voice raised and concerned. She must have seen his horse.

D'artagnan moved forward to walk pass him but he should have known that wasn't going to happen. Aramis stopped him, standing in front of him, blocking the archway. He didn't say anything but just looked at him, both of them saying nothing.

D'artagnan stared back at him, his chest heaving and tear marks drying upon his cheeks. This was the closest they had been in over a month and he could feel Aramis' breath against his face.

“D'artagnan?” Constance stood behind the men, looking back and forth between them.

“I was just leaving,” Aramis said after a moment, “my apologies for disrupting your work.”

Aramis then turned and walked out the door not looking back.

D'artagnan collapsed to the floor and Constance rushed to his side.

* * *

 

It was two nights later that D'artagnan once again was confronted by Aramis. D'artagnan was in his quarters that night absent Porthos and Athos, wanting to be alone, while listening to the rain as it fell lightly against his window. Constance was the one who told Athos and Porthos about Aramis going to see d'artagnan; to say they weren't happy was an understatement and d'artagnan made them promise to do nothing. Porthos, however, did get one punch in.

D'artagnan was disturbed by fierce knocking at his bedroom door. When he opened it, he was shocked to find a soaked Aramis standing there.

“Please,” Aramis begged.

“Are you mad?” d'artagnan hisses and tugged Aramis into his room, slamming the shut behind him, “you could get ill! What are you doing out in the rain?”

“I love you, d'artagnan,” Aramis said, “I love you.”

d'artagnan shook his head, rubbing a tired hand to his aching forehead, “Aramis...”

“I would be devastated it the Queen died,” Aramis stepped forward, “but I would be _inconsolable_ if anything happened to you. I choose, Athos, Porthos, my brothers and _you,”_ Aramis stood before d'artagnan, “you must know that I choose you. I will always choose you.”

D'artagnan looked at him speechless.

“I will never forgive myself for breaking your heart,” Aramis whispered.

“I need time, Aramis,” d'artagnan said.

Aramis nodded, “I know,” but he still looked ill and wounded.

“I still love you,” D'artagnan admitted. Aramis' eyes snapped to look at him, surprised. D'artagnan had to chuckle at that, “I never stopped loving you. It seems, you will always be my choice, as well.”

Aramis surged forward and crashed his lips to d'artagnan's, his hands grasping the side of his face in a gentle but firm grip. D'artagnan didn't push him away nor did he pull him closer. He had missed him, he had missed all of him. It was if he was a delivered man from the desert and he quickly forced himself to pull away, not wanting to get carried away.

Aramis leaned his forehead against his, both of them sharing each other's breath.

D'artagnan's heart may be broken but it wasn't shattered beyond repair.

That night he slept with Aramis cradled in his arms, his head laying on d'artagnan's chest with his arm thrown across his stomach. They weren't okay but they were going to be.

D'artagnan slept all through the night.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. (:
> 
> -KT xo


End file.
